QL 

791 
L4 


UC-NRLF 


-    •• 


GIFT  OF 
Mrs .  Gladys  Isaacson 


FELLOWSHIP  BOOKS 

tnrtton 


A  SPARK  DIVINE 


COPYRIGHT   1913 

BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  CO. 


A  SPARK  DIVINE 


J\[ct(i0pe(es$  in  t fas  caGn  sepufcfira  C$pot 
Awreatfipresaairuj  fife  we  twine: 
focCfc  Cove.  wKat  sfceps  6e(cw  was  not 
\Vitfwur  a  spark  divine. 


I.  THE  TAIL-WAGGERS 

AS  man  wanders  from  darkness  to  dark- 
ness through  his  appointed  tract  of 
life  there  lie  about  his  path,  for  cheer 
and  consolation,  many  friendships  and  affec- 
tions ready  to  answer  to  his  own  desire  and 
to  bind  themselves  round  his  heart.  He  has 
his  mother's  love,  which  is  interfused  with 
pride,  as  of  one  who  should  say,  "Other  men 
are  well  enough  and  other  women,  doubtless, 
do  the  best  they  can;  but  behold  this  paragon! 
Am  I  not  exalted  among  women  for  having 
given  him  birth?"  He  has  his  father's  love, 
which  does  not  preclude  advice  and  censure; 
and  the  love  of  his  brothers  and  sisters,  which 


M18282 


i$  sharpened  by  the  knowledge  of  his  vulner- 
able points  and  tempered  by  the  will  to  use 
that  knowledge.  There  is  the  love  of  chil- 
dren, which  passes  with  time  into  respect  or 
acquiescence,  and  there  is  the  love  of  his 
friends,  which  does  not  exempt  him  from  their 
improving  -criticism.  But  if,  as  is  possible, 
he  desires  a  love  that  never  falters  and  never 
questions,  that,  misuse  cannot  change  and  even 
cruelty  cannot  affect;  if  he  is  attracted  by  a 
loyalty  which  rises  into  worship  and  flatters 
poor  human  nature  by  investing  it  with  god- 
like attributes;  if  his  complex  and  doubting 
mind  cares  to  refresh  itself  with  the  contem- 
plation of  perfect  simplicity  and  directness; 
if  he  sighs  for  a  companionship  which  will  as- 
sume the  burden  of  his  faults  and  almost  turn 
them  into  virtues,  which  contents  itself  with 
a  kind  look  or  a  cheering  word  and  does  not 
even  press  for  these — if  these  be  his  wishes,  he 
can  secure  them,  almost  without  an  effort  on 
his  own  part,  from  the  proffered  love  of  the 
four-footed  beasts  who  humbly  follow  his 
2 


footsteps  through  the  world.  Much  of  his 
happiness  will  depend  on  his  acceptance  of 
the  gift  and  on  the  manner  in  which  he  treats 
it  when  it  is  his. 

"%  How,  then,  shall  we  make  the  most  of 
these  friends?  Some  men  seem  to  think  they 
have  done  all  that  is  necessary  when  they  have 
given  a  dog  a  kennel  in  a  yard  and  have  at- 
tached him  to  a  chain  as  a  preventive  against 
burglars  and  an  ineffectual  terror  to  butcher- 
boys.  It  is  pitiful  to  hear  the  poor  beast 
barking  his  throat  to  bits  and  to  see  him 
wasting  all  his  noble  qualities  and  wearing  his 
great  soul  away  under  a  mask  of  carefully 
cultivated  ferocity.  Others  again  look  upon 
their  cats  as  mere  mousers,  reject  their  reticent 
and  comfortable  friendship,  and  banish  them 
to  kitchens  and  larders  and  the  cold  hospitality 
of  passages.  This  may,  no  doubt,  temporarily 
gratify  the  cat,  but  think  what  is  lost  in  giving 
play  only  to  one  part  (and  that  the  murderous 
one)  of  her  otherwise  amiable  nature.  No, 
let  us  have  none  of  this.  Let  us,  on  the  con- 
3  ft  trary 


trary  (with  due  reservations  and  precautions 
in  regard  to  long-haired  dogs  and  muddy 
weather),  assert  and  practise  the  principle  that 
if  we  are  to  get  the  utmost  good  and  the  keen- 
est pleasure  out  of  our  association  with  ani- 
mals we  must  give  them  the  right  to  share  our 
working  hours  as  well  as  our  leisure,  to  occupy 
our  house  and  room  as  well  as  to  accompany 
us  in  our  walks.  Thus  they  will  learn  from 
us  lessons  mainly  tending  to  elevate  a  carpet 
into  a  position  of  inviolable  sanctity,  and  we 
shall  be  taught  by  them  how  easy  it  is  (for  a 
dog)  to  be  loyal  and  friendly  and  faithful, 
and  (for  a  cat)  to  be  proud  without  ostentation 
and  affectionate  without  servility. 

Docta  per  incertas  audax  discurrere  silvas 
colllbus  hlrsutas  atque  a  git  are  feras, 

non  gravlbus  vinclis  unquam  consueta  teneri 
verbera  nee  niveo  corpore  saeva  patl. 

molli  namque  sinu  domini  dominaeque  jace- 
bam  et  noram  in  strata  lassa  cubare  toro. 

The  unknown  who,  more  than  sixteen  hundred 
4 


years  ago,  had  these  lines  engraved  on  the  little 
marble  tomb  of  his  dog  Margaret  knew  the 
dog-lovers'  secret  as  well  as  any  man. 
%  Imagination,  no  doubt,  may  please  itself 
by  straying  to  a  future  in  which  the  frame- 
work of  civilization  shall  have  been  enlarged 
and  its  implements  strengthened  so  that  it  may 
be  possible  for  you  to  admit  to  your  hearth 
Prince,  the  elephant,  or  Mamie,  the  giraffe. 
"John,"  you  will  say,  "have  you  let  Prinny  out 
for  his  morning  run?  Oh  yes,  here  he  comes 
with  a  poplar  in  his  trunk.  Down,  Prinny, 
down!  You're  covering  me  with  mud. 
Come  in  to  breakfast  and  have  your  bun." 
Or:  "Mamie,  get  off  the  sofa  at  once.  Sofas 
are  not  meant  for  giraffes.  Besides,  you've 
got  your  own  basket  in  the  corner.  Naughty, 
naughty  Mamie!"  Something  of  this  kind 
seems,  if  we  may  believe  Milton,  to  have  been 
the  lot  (not  indoors,  but  in  the  open)  of  our 
first  parents: 


About  them  frisking  played 
'All  Beasts  of  the  earth  since  wild,  and  of  all 

chase 

In  wood  or  wilderness,  forest  or  den; 
Sporting  the  lion  ramped f  and  in  his  paw 
Dandled  the  kid;  bears,  tigers,  ounces,  pards, 
Gambolled  before  them;  the  unwieldy   ele- 
phant, 
To  make  them  mirth,  used  all  his  might,  and 

wreathed 
His  lithe  proboscis. 

%  It  is  a  pity  that  no  mention  is  made  of  the 
hippopotamus.  Many  of  us  have  always  felt 
singularly  drawn  to  this  genial  monster  who 
has  the  remarkable  merit  of  being  at  the  same 
time  supremely  massive  and  (when  he  opens 
his  mouth)  undeniably  hollow.  Good  hu- 
mour shines  in  every  square  yard  of  his  face, 
and  his  kindness  of  heart  is  so  great  that  he 
could  hardly  bring  himself  to  tread  on  your 
foot,  certainly  not  without  the  apology  that 
any  gentleman  gladly  grants  to  another  whom 
he  has  unwittingly  injured  or  offended.  His 
6 


bill  for  rice  might  be  large,  but  think  what  a 
joy  it  would  be  to  take  him  out  with  you  in 
the  country  lanes  and  to  see  him  speeding,  as 
he  unquestionably  would,  in  headlong  flight 
from  the  anger  of  a  Pomeranian  dog  to  whom 
he  had  ventured  to  make  unsolicited  advances. 
In  his  off  moments  he  might  make  himself 
useful  as  a  substitute  for  the  steam-roller  on 
newly  mended  roads. 

*%  These  are  agreeable  fancies,  but  in  the 
meantime  fate  and  the  size  and  frailty  of  our 
homes  limit  us  for  the  most  part  to  dogs  and 
cats.  Some,  no  doubt,  will  put  forward  the 
mongoose  and  the  jerboa  as  amiable  compan- 
ions, but  these,  delightful  though  they  may  be, 
are  exotics  beyond  the  attainment  of  the  gen- 
eral. It  is  not  everybody  who  can  secure  or 
keep  a  supply  of  snakes  sufficient  to  gratify  a 
mongoose's  unquenchable  desire  for  sport  and 
exercise.  So,  as  I  say,  we  must  confine  our- 
selves chiefly  to  dogs  and  cats,  with,  perhaps, 
an  occasional  exception  in  favour  of  a  parrot 
or  a  cockatoo.  It  is  of  dogs  that  I  now  pro- 

7 


pose  to  speak.  Nobody  must  suspect  me  of 
wishing  to  wrong  cats  and  others  if  I  reserve 
them  for  a  later  section. 
*%  I  read  the  other  day  in  my  favourite  even- 
ing paper  a  notice  of  a  booklet  purporting  to 
give  an  account  of  a  variety  of  dog  hitherto, 
it  appeared,  little  known  in  England.  I  learnt 
that  this  dog  was  distantly  related  to  the  New- 
foundland, that  he  was  brown  in  colour,  that 
his  head  was  of  certain  dimensions,  that  his 
eyes  were  of  a  yellowish  tint,  that  he  stood  so 
many  inches  at  the  shoulder,  together  with 
various  notes  as  to  the  shape  and  size  of  his 
body  and  limbs.  Beyond  that  there  was  noth- 
ing— nothing  about  his  little  tricks  of  manner 
and  bearing,  nothing  about  his  bark,  his  cour- 
tesy, his  genius  for  friendship  and  devotion — 
nothing,  in  short,  about  any  of  the  glorious 
qualities  that  make  up  a  dog's  soul  and  endear 
him  to  his  human  colleague.  It  was  a  show- 
bench  article,  much  like  the  lists  of  points  with 
their  percentages  of  value  which  are  issued  by 
the  various  clubs  formed  to  guard  the  physical 
8 


characteristics  of  this  or  that  particular  breed 
of  dog.  Not  but  what,  like  Bob  Jakin,  I  like 
a  bit  o'  breed  myself,  but  the  essential  thing 
about  a  dog  is,  not  his  pedigree,  but  his  soul. 
My  heart  warms  to  the  faithful  clever  mongrel 
no  less  than  to  his  colleague  of  the  untainted 
descent  who  has  all  the  show-points  to  his 
credit.  Who  cares  what  was  the  pedigree  of 
Pomero,  the  joy  and  solace  of  Lander's  old 
age,  or  of  Nero,  "the  little  Cuban  (Maltese? 
and  otherwise  mongrel)  shock,  mostly  white," 
who  shed  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  the  household 
of  the  Carlyles,  "poor  little  animal,  so  loyal, 
so  loving,  so  naive  and  true  with  what  dim 
intellect  he  had?"  To  me,  too,  there  was 
granted  in  early  youth  a  sort  of  Cuban-Mal- 
tese. He  was  purchased  in  Pau,  a  small  but 
delicious  ball  of  white  wool,  and  on  account 
of  his  infinitesimal  size  he  was  called  by  the 
name  of  Chang,  a  Chinese  giant  who  was  at 
that  time  exhibiting  his  star-y-pointing  height 
to  all  who  cared  to  pay  for  the  spectacle. 
Given  in  derision,  the  name  soon  became  in- 
9  %  verted 


verted  into  mere  truth,  for  our  Chang  rushed 
up  the  scale  of  growth  with  such  swiftness  that, 
before  many  months  were  out,  he  had  become 
almost  as  tall  as  a  collie.  There  never  was  a 
more  affectionate  or  a  cleverer  dog.  No  "dim 
intellect"  for  him:  he  took  his  orders  (and 
disobeyed  them)  in  English  and  French  and 
the  patois  of  the  Bearnese,  and  many  a  thing 
besides  he  knew.  Poodles  he  detested,  and 
always  fought  against  them  with  surprising 
ferocity,  looking  upon  them,  I  suppose,  with 
his  naturalized  British  prejudice,  as  canine 
kickshaws.  When  we  left  the  Pyrenees  for 
England  he  came  with  us,  and  being  let  out  for 
exercise  at  some  French  station,  he  promptly 
lost  himself.  Then  was  seen  the  terrific  spec- 
tacle of  a  distraught  British  lady's-maid  run- 
ning up  and  down  the  platform  and  appealing 
to  everyone  in  these  mysterious  words:  "Avvy 
voo  voo  a  petty  sheen?"  Chang  was,  of 
course,  found  eventually  in  the  refreshment- 
room,  where  he  had  ingratiated  himself  with 
the  lady  behind  the  counter.  He  reached 
10 


England  without  further  adventure  and  lived 
to  a  great  age. 

"%  Then,  too,  there  is  Diogenes,  the  dog 
whom  Paul  Dombey  remembered  and  whom 
Mr.  Toots  afterwards  brought  to  Florence 
Dombey.  What  was  the  race  of  Diogenes? 
We  know  no  more  than  we  know  what  song 
the  Sirens  sang.  He  "was  as  ridiculous  a 
dog  as  one  could  meet  with  on  a  summer's 
day;  a  blundering,  ill-favoured,  clumsy, 
bullet-headed  dog,  continually  acting  on  a 
wrong  idea  that  there  was  an  enemy  in  the 
neighbourhood,  whom  it  was  meritorious  to 
bark  at;  and  though  he  was  far  from  good- 
tempered,  and  certainly  was  not  clever,  and 
had  hair  all  over  his  eyes,  and  a  comic  nose, 
and  an  inconsistent  tail,  and  a  gruff  voice ;  he 
was  dearer  to  Florence,  in  virtue  of  that  part- 
ing remembrance  of  him  and  that  request 
that  he  might  be  taken  care  of,  than  the  most 
valuable  and  beautiful  of  his  kind."  Dio- 
genes has,  at  any  rate,  one  advantage  over 
most  pedigree  dogs :  he  is  immortal, 
n  %  As 


^  As  to  the  virtue  of  mongrels,  then,  I  think 
we  can  agree.  "But,"  says  the  owner  of  the 
"yard-dog,"  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  scor- 
ing an  undeniable  point,  "you  are  trying  to 
undog  my  dog  and  everybody  else's.  After 
all  he  is  a  dog,  and  not  a  human  being,  and 
Nature,  who  formed  him  to  be  an  outdoor 
guardian,  obviously  did  not  intend  him  to  be 
the  questionable  ornament  of  a  room. 
Remember  that  your  immortal  Diogenes 
'bounced  into  the  room,  dived  under  all  the 
furniture,  and  wound  a  long  iron  chain,  that 
dangled  from  his  neck,  round  legs  of  chairs 
and  tables  .  .  .  and  went  pell-mell  at  Tow- 
linson,  morally  convinced  that  he  was  the 
enemy  whom  he  had  barked  at  round  the 
corner  all  his  life  and  never  seen  yet.'  What 
have  you  to  say  to  that?  Is  that  a  dog  for  a 
drawing-room?" 

%  Softly,  my  good  friend,  say  I.  As  to  Dio- 
genes my  answer  is  ready:  "He  went  to  the 
window  where  Florence  was  sitting,  looking 
on,  rose  up  on  his  hind  legs,  with  his  awkward 

12 


forepaws  on  her  shoulders,  licked  her  face 
and  hands,  nestled  his  great  head  against  her 
heart,  and  wagged  his  tail  till  he  was  tired. 
Finally,  Diogenes  coiled  himself  up  at  her 
feet  and  went  to  sleep."  And,  in  regard  to 
the  larger  question  of  Nature's  intentions,  I 
would  have  you  show  yourself  a  little  less 
sure.  Is  it,  after  all,  so  manifestly  clear  that 
she  intended  you  for  a  house?  Is  there  not  a 
suspicion  that  she  formed  you  for  an  arboreal 
dwelling,  and  that  it  was  only  ambition  and 
the  decrease  of  tails  that  rescued  you  and  all 
of  us  from  a  prehensile  branch-to-branch  ex- 
istence? A  little  more  modesty  would  better 
become  you  when  your  dog  pleads  for  occa- 
sional admittance  to  your  home.  Heaven  for- 
bid that  I  should  ask  you  to  undog  your  dog. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  you  cannot  do  it,  however 
much  you  may  try.  A  dog  will  still  be  a  dog : 
his  tail  will  still  wag  and  may  sometimes 
sweep  away  a  knick-knack;  he  will  still  turn 
round  three  times  before  lying  down  on  your 
floor,  just  as  his  remote  ancestors  turned  to 
13  <%beat 


beat  down  the  long  grass  in  which  they  slept; 
he  will  still  be  four-legged  and  faithful  and 
mute  and  eloquent;  and  still,  at  times,  he  will 
publicly  lick  his  paws  into  cleanliness.  Yet 
there  is  in  a  dog  so  delightful  a  faculty  of 
obedience  and  adaptability  that,  once  released 
from  his  detested  chain  and  transferred  from 
the  yard  to  the  room,  he  will  without  an  effort 
become  courteous,  refined,  and  unobtrusive, 
responding  to  your  moods  with  a  sympathy 
which  is  the  very  perfection  of  politeness.  If 
you  need  silence  while  you  read  or  write  he 
will  lie  for  hours  without  a  movement.  Give 
him  a  kind  word  and  he  will  lift  his  heavy 
eyebrows  and  thump  the  floor  with  his  grate- 
ful tail;  invite  him  to  your  side  and  he  will 
come  and  lay  his  loyal  head  upon  your  knee; 
bid  him  lie  down  and  he  will  lie  down  again 
without  a  murmur  to  dream  of  glorious  forays, 
the  while  he 

'with  inward  yelp  and  restless  forefoot  plies 
His  function  of  the  woodland. 

14 


%  Talk  to  him  and  he  will  never  misunder- 
stand you  or  give  you  a  wrong  answer.  Your 
words,  with  a  few  exceptions,  such  as  "dinner" 
or  "drink"  or  "biscuits,"  mean  nothing  definite 
to  him.  He  listens  to  your  voice  as  you  listen 
to  music,  finding  in  it  consolation,  hope,  en- 
couragement and  exaltation,  and  satisfying  all 
the  vague  longings  of  his  soul  in  your  profuse 
strains  of  unpremeditated  art.  Then  rouse 
him  for  a  walk  or  a  romp  and  he  is  up  and 
alert  in  a  moment,  his  spirits  raised  at  once  to 
their  highest  pitch  and  all  his  sense  of  humour 
awake  to  make  you  mirth.  Such  is  your  com- 
panion during  his  all  too  brief  life,  joyous, 
humble,  faithful  and  sincere,  lending  all  his 
strength  and  wisdom  and  friendship  to  your 
service.  And  when  the  shadows  close  upon 
him  how  patiently  will  he  bear  his  sufferings, 
how  meekly  will  he  beg  you  for  relief.  With 
his  last  effort  he  will  lick  your  hand,  with  his 
last  look  he  will  bid  you  good-bye,  and  his 
last  sigh,  as  his  heart  ceases  to  beat,  will  be 
one  of  gratitude  and  love. 

15 


II.  A  GALLERY  OF  FRIENDS 

!%  AS  I  look  back  through  the  long  avenue 
of  memory  I  can  see  many  shapes  of  dogs 
sporting  in  and  out  of  the  trees  or  pacing 
soberly  enough  by  my  side,  a  joyous  and  faith- 
ful company  such  as  any  dog-lover,  I  believe, 
can  summon  to  his  mind  when  the  mood  is  on 
him.  That,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  few  com- 
pensations we  have  for  the  shortness  of  the 
lives  of  dogs.  They  become  consecrated  in 
memory  and  glorified  in  thought,  living  con- 
stantly in  the  hearts  of  the  masters  for  whom 
they  would  gladly  have  given  even  the  short 
term  of  life  permitted  by  the  fates.  How 
they  revelled  and  frolicked  and  spent  them- 
selves in  our  service,  rejoicing  in  life  because 
it  gave  them  our  society.  And  now 

Hi  motus  animorum  atque  haec  certamina 
tanta  pulveris  exigui  jactu  compressa  qui- 
escunt. 

%  Let  me  record  here  as  briefly  as  may  be 
some  of  the  deeds  and  qualities  of  these  dogs 
16 


of  mine.  If  I  do  so  with  discretion  I  shall, 
I  hope,  escape  the  censure  of  Duke,  the  Great 
Dane,  and  Soo-ti,  the  Pekinese,  those  strangely 
assorted  associates  and  friends  who  are  now 
couched,  each  in  his  separate  dignity,  before 
my  fire. 

*%  Of  Chang,  the  Cuban-Maltese,  I  have 
already  spoken.  That  amiable  alien  had, 
however,  been  preceded  in  our  home  and  our 
affections  by  Neptune,  a  Newfoundland  of 
the  true  type,  who  was  imported  into  this 
country  from  his  place  of  origin  in  very  early 
life.  One  of  his  younger  brothers  afterwards 
followed  him  and  was  given  to  Charles  Dick- 
ens. Nep  for  some  time,  as  I  grieve  to  re- 
member, lived  in  a  stable-yard,  attached  to  a 
kennel  by  a  chain.  At  any  rate  these  were  his 
headquarters,  and  it  became  the  custom  for 
the  boy  members  of  the  family  to  visit  him 
there  ceremonially.  We  were  small  boys  and 
the  kennel  was  large.  It  was  easy  to  creep 
into  it  and  pass  some  happy  moments  in  inti- 
mate conversation  with  our  black  and  shaggy 
17  <%  friend, 


friend,  who  welcomed  us  effusively  and  al- 
ways treated  us  with  a  very  high-bred  courtesy 
while  we  shared  his  room.  If  it  was  possible 
we  would  then  detach  his  chain  without  his 
knowledge  and  make  a  rush  for  the  lawn. 
The  result  was  always  the  same.  There  was 
a  thunder  of  pursuing  feet,  a  black  head  struck 
violently  against  a  small  boy's  back,  and  a 
small  boy's  body,  having  hurtled  through  the 
air,  thudded  on  the  grass,  to  be  rolled  over  and 
over  and  pranced  upon  and  ruffled  into  a  ruin 
of  clothes  by  an  enthusiastic  dog.  Poor  old 
Neptune!  He  had  a  mournful  end,  for  he 
was  bitten  by  a  mad  dog  and  had  to  be  de- 
stroyed. Even  now,  at  a  distance  of  half  a 
century,  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  our  dread- 
ful sorrow,  when  in  spite  of  our  passionate 
protests,  that  tragedy  was  accomplished.  It 
was  our  first  experience  of  all  that  is  irremedi- 
able in  the  death  of  a  friend. 
%  I  must  content  myself,  not  as  honouring 
them  less,  but  as  being  limited  in  regard  to 
space,  with  a  bare  mention  of  Shep,  a  beauti- 
18 


ful  Welsh  collie,  always  ready  to  chase  imagi- 
nary sheep  over  the  commons  of  Cambridge 
or  round  the  Squares  of  London,  and  of 
Buffles,  a  Skye,  the  frequent  playmate  of 
Wilkie  Collins,  whose  bunch  of  keys  he  used 
to  retrieve  with  eager  iteration  from  all  the 
corners  and  canopies  of  a  drawing-room,  of 
Buffles  who,  to  the  end  of  his  long  and  honour- 
able life,  cherished  the  magnanimous  delusion 
that,  by  the  mere  swiftness  of  his  ridiculous 
legs,  he  could  capture  a  pheasant  in  Hamp- 
shire or  a  sparrow  in  Pall  Mall.  I  come  now 
to  Jack,  the  tawny  and  majestic  chief  of  a 
long  line  of  St.  Bernards.  Jack  travelled  as 
a  youth  from  Switzerland  to  Cambridge, 
where  he  soon  became  a  very  active  member 
of  the  First  Trinity  Boat  Club.  He  involved 
himself  willingly  in  the  complex  machinery 
for  the  production  and  development  of  oars- 
men, and  was  justly  celebrated  for  the  insati- 
able ardour  with  which  he  pursued  the  work 
of  coaching.  He  had  his  own  ideas  of  the 
proper  pace  for  an  eight-oared  crew,  prefer- 
19  ^§  ring 


ring  a  humdrum  paddle  to  the  furious  oars- 
manship that  secures  bumps.  Of  this  he 
sometimes  showed  his  disapproval  by  attach- 
ing himself  to  the  coat  or  sweater  of  his  human 
colleague  (if  the  latter  happened  to  be  on 
foot)  or  by  leaping  desperately  at  the  super- 
cilious nose  of  the  tow-path  horse.  During 
the  later  and  speedier  stages  of  practice  we 
were,  therefore,  compelled  to  leave  him  at  the 
boathouse,  where  he  superintended  embark- 
ations and  landings  and  defied  or  disdained  all 
rival  crews.  The  restrictions  of  Cambridge 
in  regard  to  dogs  he  accepted  with  great  dig- 
nity. There  was,  indeed,  a  famous  occasion 
when  I  saw  him  strolling  nonchalantly  across 
the  Great  Court  of  Trinity  toward  the  Mas- 
ter's Lodge,  then  inhabited  by  Dr.  Thompson, 
who  knew  about  dogs  all  that  may  be  gathered 
from  the  editing  of  some  of  Plato's  Dialogues. 
An  alarmed,  but  adjuring,  porter  followed  at 
a  safe  distance  and  Jack  was  eventually  coaxed 
out.  That,  however,  was  an  exception.  At 
other  times  he  did  not  fail  to  curl  himself  up 
20 


in  a  corner  outside  the  gateway  and  to  wait 
there  for  his  master  without  attempting  a 
trespass.  Many  tried  to  lure  him  in,  but  the 
ardor  civium  prava  jubentium  had  no  effect 
upon  him.  Years  afterwards  when  I  took  him 
to  revisit  Cambridge  he  remembered  every- 
thing, and  when  I  made  to  enter  Trinity  he 
trotted  on  in  advance  and  lay  down  content- 
edly in  the  old  corner. 

%  Removed  from  Cambridge  he  made  his 
headquarters  in  a  London  house,  to  the  mis- 
tress of  which  he  attached  himself  with  a  de- 
votion that  drew  part  of  its  ardour,  I  am  sure, 
from  the  monastic  seclusion  of  his  former  life 
in  a  University.  She,  indeed,  was  formed  by 
nature  to  be  the  friend  of  dogs.  She  hu- 
moured him  to  the  top  of  his  bent  and  loved 
him.  Yet  he  sometimes  treated  her  without 
discretion,  for  he  had  a  passion  for  carrying 
things  in  his  mouth,  and  her  parasols  were 
usually  sacrificed  to  his  irrepressible  requests. 
Once,  when  she  returned  from  a  drive  he  met 
her  in  the  street,  and,  as  she  had  no  parasol, 
21 


he  seized  the  muff  which  hung  from  her  neck 
and,  prancing  with  delight,  dragged  her  at  a 
great  pace  head-first  in  at  the  front  floor, 
through  the  hall,  and  up  the  staircase,  where 
I  fortunately  met  and  released  her.  His 
genius  for  protecting  a  woman  was  not  exempt 
from  a  certain  mischievous  pleasure  in  teasing 
and  bullying  her. 

%  The  same  characteristic  showed  itself  in 
Ben,  a  handsome  and  ingenious  retriever  of  a 
later  date,  the  dog 

'who  now  without  my  aid 
Hunts  through   the  shadow-land,  himself  a 
shade. 

%  Whenever  Ben's  master  had  to  spend  a 
night  from  home,  Ben  immediately  assumed 
the  close  guardianship  of  a  mistress  whom  at 
other  times  he  treate'd  with  some  neglect. 
He  could  not  bear  to  lose  her  from  view  and 
paced  from  room  to  room,  sometimes  in  the 
wake  of  her  skirts,  occasionally  on  them. 
The  mere  ghost  of  a  footstep  roused  him  to 
a  growling  devotion  during  which  he  sus- 

22 


pected  even  the  family  butler  of  the  darkest 
crimes.  At  about  10  o'clock  P.  M.  he  would 
get  up  and  tug  his  lady's  dress,  afterwards 
walking  to  the  door  and  scratching  violently. 
If  she  paid  no  attention  he  tugged  her  dress 
with  greater  violence  and  nudged  her  repeat- 
edly till  she  got  up  and  opened  the  door,  when 
he  would  run  out,  scamper  up  the  stairs,  and 
post  himself  on  the  landing.  If  she  followed 
him  all  was  well.  If  not  he  would  set  to  work 
and  bark  till  she  submitted.  Having  thus 
forced  her  to  obey  him  by  coming  to  bed,  he 
would  lie  down  peacefully  in  the  passage  and 
go  to  sleep.  When  his  master  was  at  home  he 
never  attempted  these  proceedings,  allowing 
10  o'clock  and  n  o'clock  and  even  midnight 
to  go  by  without  a  sign  that  he  was  aware  of 
the  flight  of  time  or  of  the  necessity  for  hus- 
tling good  people  into  their  beds.  Left  alone 
with  his  mistress,  he  became  one  of  those  dogs 
who,  having  accepted  an  office,  comport  them- 
selves in  it  with  a  zeal  suited  to  its  responsible 
nature. 
23  %  Rollo, 


"%  Rollo,  another  St.  Bernard,  was  also  a  pro- 
tector, but  with  a  difference.  He  found  his 
chief  interest  and  joy  in  children  and  the 
female  guardians  of  children.  While  those 
of  his  own  immediate  circle  were  still  quite 
young  he  guarded  them  with  a  jealous  love, 
attending  the  perambulator  closely,  allowing 
the  bigger  ones  to  roll  him  about  and  tug  his 
fur  to  their  hearts'  content,  and  following  them 
from  the  garden  to  the  nursery,  always  a  little 
fearful  lest  harm  should  come  to  them.  To 
the  nurse  who  then  looked  after  them  he  de- 
voted himself  with  a  singular  and  chivalrous 
affection,  recognizing  in  her  a  colleague  as 
kind  and  loyal  as  himself.  No  man's  voice 
offering  a  run  in  the  fields  or  a  swim  in  the 
river  could  ever  tempt  him  from  his  infantry. 
When,  in  course  of  time,  the  nurse  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  French  governess  Rollo  issued 
letters  of  naturalization  to  her  at  once  and  ac- 
cepted her  with  enthusiasm  and  a  transport 
of  clumsy  caresses.  Yet  his  liking  for  peram- 
bulators remained  unimpaired.  On  the  dis- 

24 


tant  appearance  in  the  road  of  one  of  these 
vehicles  he  never  failed  to  run  up  to  it  in  order 
that  he  might  examine  and  lick  its  terrified 
contents. 

%  Of  Rufus,  a  spaniel,  the  archetype  of  fidel- 
ity, obstinacy  and  adoration,  I  have  spoken 
elsewhere,  celebrating  his  long  life  and  his 
many  virtues.  I  mention  him  here  in  order 
to  recall  a  trait  which  is  almost  universal 
among  dogs,  but  which  in  him  had  a  peculiar 
strength.  It  was  an  acute  agony  to  him  to 
realize  that  his  master's  bag  or  portmanteau 
was  being  packed  and  that  departure  was  in 
the  air.  He  wandered  about  like  a  lost  soul, 
and  refused  the  most  enticing  biscuits.  Now 
he  would  glue  himself  to  my  side,  and  now, 
in  a  sudden  frenzy,  he  would  rush  up  the  stairs 
into  my  room  and  lay  himself  firmly  down  in 
the  partly,  packed  portmanteau.  Evicted 
thence,  he  posted  himself  at  the  front  door, 
waiting  for  me  there  in  a  pathetic  attitude  of 
guilty  determination.  Finally  he  had  to  be 
removed  by  force  and  shut  up  in  a  room,  but 
25  *%  even 


even  then  I  have  sometimes  known  him  to 
burst  his  bars  and  arrive,  pursued  by  a  boy, 
on  the  station  platform  as  the  train  was  moving 
out.  How,  indeed,  is  a  dog  to  be  assured  that 
he  will  ever  see  his  departing  master  again? 
%  I  cannot  do  more  than  indicate  briefly  the 
merits  of  Rouser,  a  rough-haired  terrier,  and 
Worry,  an  Irish  terrier,  friendly  dogs,  but  not 
my  own.  Each  of  them  had  a  distinctive 
character,  but  it  was  lost  under  the  great  heap 
of  imaginary  attributes  which  their  fond  mas- 
ter had  raised  about  them.  Rouser  was  an 
amiable  dog,  not  gifted  with  an  over-mastering 
Intelligence,  who  could  always  be  made  to 
believe  that  an  army  of  rats  lurked  under  a 
sofa-cushion.  Yet  Rouser  was  praised  to  his 
innocent  face  for  superhuman  cleverness. 
His  talents  were  loudly  vaunted,  and  his  sol- 
emn efforts  to  destroy  a  stocking  or  to  tatter 
a  hearthrug  were  attributed  to  the  deep  de- 
signs of  genius  rather  than  to  an  inborn  capac- 
ity for  mischief.  Worry  was  the  meekest  and 
kindest  dog  in  the  world,  and  she  spent  much 
26 


of  her  day  lying  curled  up  in  comfortable 
places.  We  were  asked  to  believe  that  Worry 
had  an  almost  Satanic  faculty  for  intrigue  and 
wickedness,  and  when  she  was  merely  resting 
she  was  supposed  to  be  scheming  new  plans  of 
perversity.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  genu- 
ine characters  of  these  dogs  were  never  affected 
by  all  these  imputations.  They  remained  true 
dogs  to  the  end. 

%  Here  I  must  pause,  though  my  list  is  by  no 
means  exhausted,  for  I  have  known  and  loved 
nearly  every  sort  of  dog:  Homo  sum;  canlni 
nihll  a  me  alienum  puto.  But  what  I  have 
said  is  sufficient.  Besides,  Duke,  the  Great 
Dane,  and  Soo-ti,  the  Pekinese,  who  are  shar- 
ing my  room  with  me,  are  now  restless.  They 
have  been  playing  together,  and  twice  the 
little  fellow  has  picked  a  quarrel  with  his  gi- 
gantic friend,  has  flown  at  him,  caught  him  by 
the  lip,  and  hung  angrily  suspended  there. 
Each  time  the  Dane  has  with  infinite  patience 
and  gentleness  freed  himself  from  his  impish 
tormentor.  Now  they  have  concentrated  upon 
27  %  me. 


me.  Duke  is  insinuating  his  nose  under  my 
arm ;  Soo-ti  is  scratching  my  leg  with  his  ab- 
surd forepaws.  "Come  out,"  they  say;  "come 
out  into  the  open  air."  Well,  well,  let  us  go, 
then,  and  enjoy  the  day  while  there  is  yet  time. 

III.  THE    FRIENDLY    DUCKLING 

^s  I  PLACE  the  story  of  the  duckling  here 
because  there  is  something  curiously  dog-like 
about  it.  As  to  the  precise  origin  of  this  duck- 
ling I  am  a  little  vague,  but  I  incline  to  think 
that  it  was  one  of  four  or  five  who  found  on 
shaking  off  their  shell  that  they  had  obtained 
a  hen  as  a  mother  and  a  poultry  yard  as  a 
nursery.  I  seem  to  remember  that  we  first 
saw  it  in  the  poultry  yard  a  day  or  two  after 
it  had  come  to  light.  There  was  something 
peculiarly  engaging  about  it,  a  spirit  of  for- 
ward and  confiding  boldness  that  prompted 
it  rather  to  court  than  to  avoid  the  tendered 
hand  of  a  boy.  At  any  rate,  it  was  selected 
from  the  little  flock  and  was  carried,  quite 
fearless,  in  a  pocket  to  the  house  to  be  admired. 
28 


^s  Once  there  it  made  itself  at  home  directly. 
"This,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "is  the  imperial 
palace  to  which  I  belong.  Hens'  nests  and 
fowl-runs  are  not  for  such  as  I.  Human  so- 
ciety is  what  I  require,  and  here  I  intend  to 
abide."  It  was  divinely  fluffy  and  yellow, 
and  when,  having  been  set  down  on  a  table,  it 
waddled  across  with  a  roll  so  royal  that  it  re- 
sembled a  swagger,  and  cocked  its  funny  little 
head  and  took  stock  of  the  company  with  a 
very  knowing  eye,  there  was  a  peal  of  laughter 
and  delight  from  the  children  who  were  stand- 
ing round.  It  was  settled  at  once  that  it 
should  not  return  to  its  foster-mother,  but 
should  be  kept  as  a  home  pet,  and  that  a  roomy 
basket  with  a  lid  should  be  provided  for  it  as 
its  own  sacred  dwelling-place.  In  this,  on  a 
bed  of  much  flannel,  it  slept  comfortably 
enough  at  night.  During  the  day  it  lived 
partly  in  rooms,  partly  in  the  open  air,  and 
partly  in  pockets. 

A  It  became  devotedly  attached  to  all  the 

children.    We  had  known  cats  and  dogs  and 

29  ft  had 


had  experience  of  their  affection,  but  until  we 
met  this  waddling  little  stranger  we  could 
never  have  believed  that  a  mere  spot  of  a  duck 
could  have  wound  itself  round  our  hearts  as 
this  one  did.  If  we  put  it  down  on  the  lawn 
or  on  a  path  it  would  follow — I  was  about  to 
say,  like  a  dog,  but  that  would  be  an  inade- 
quate description.  Certainly  it  was  like  a  dog 
in  its  determination  to  be  with  us  and  not  to 
lose  us  from  view,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  its 
progress  was  slow  and  undeviating,  though  its 
gait  was  by  no  means  solemn.  It  did  not  stop 
to  investigate  tufts  of  grass,  nor  did  it  attempt 
to  express  its  joy  by  capering  or  by  flank  move- 
ments. It  just  followed,  pee-eeping  oc- 
casionally when  we  got  too  far  ahead  and 
showing  manifest  delight  when  we  stopped 
to  allow  it  to  catch  us  up,  or  when,  its 
exercise  being  deemed  to  be  duly  accom- 
plished, we  took  it  up  and  replaced  it  in 
a  pocket.  Indoors,  as  I  say,  it  had  its  basket, 
to  which  it  was  often  thought  safer  to  transfer 
it  even  in  the  daytime.  So  long  as  one  of  its 
30 


young  owners  remained  in  the  room  it  would 
lie  snugly  and  happily  in  its  mansion  even  if 
the  lid  were  closed.  But  if  we  all  went  out  it 
would  immediately  become  conscious  of  its 
solitude  and  would  cry  piteously,  until  one  of 
us  returned  and  spoke  to  it,  when  it  would 
cease  its  wailing  and  snuggle  into  its  flannel 
once  more.  We  tried  this  trick  before  all  the 
servants  and  with  any  visitor  who  came  to  the 
house,  and  it  never  failed.  As  I  look  back 
upon  it,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  sported  cruelly 
with  affection  and  companionship. 
*%  On  the  second  morning  one  of  the  boys  had 
a  brilliantly  happy  thought.  "Why  not,"  he 
said,  "give  it  a  swim  in  the  big  bath?"  The 
suggestion  was  rapturously  received.  A  live 
duckling  in  a  bath  was  obviously  a  better  game 
than  a  fleet  of  tin  fish — the  sort  that  has  a  stick 
of  steel  projecting  from  the  snout — drawn  by 
means  of  a  magnet  on  a  hesitating  and  fre- 
quently interrupted  course.  So  up  we  dashed 
into  the  paternal  dressing-room,  carrying  our 
favourite  with  us.  The  bath  was  quickly  filled 
31 


and  the  duckling  was  promptly  launched  on 
the  surface  of  the  water.  It  proved  to  be  a 
most  intrepid  navigator.  It  chattered  with 
delight,  dabbling  enthusiastically  in  the  water, 
flinging  showers  over  its  body,  standing  on  its 
innocent  head,  and  expressing  its  joy  by  a  hun- 
dred pretty  antics.  It  was  great  sport  to  keep 
moving  from  one  end  of  the  bath  to  the  other 
and  to  watch  it  paddling  desperately  after  us. 
For  speed  against  the  clock  over  that  particu- 
lar course  of  five  feet  or  so  I  am  sure  its  record 
still  holds  good.  There  was  never  another 
competitor,  and  house  and  bath  have  now 
vanished  from  the  earth. 
^fe  In  the  meantime  myths  and  legends,  having 
the  duckling  for  their  nucleus,  began  to 
spread  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  cottagers 
thought  there  was  magic  in  it  and  were  dis- 
posed to  shake  their  heads.  The  gardener's 
wife  said  "she'd  a-seen  no  end  of  ducklings 
in  her  time,  ah,  and  wrung  the  necks  of  a  tidy 
few  ducks,  pretty  dears,  and  a  very  tasty  dish 
they  made  with  sage  and  onions  to  flavour 
32 


'em.  Some  made  their  apple  sauce  one  way 
and  some  made  it  another.  She  herself  used 
only  the  best  apples.  If  you  couldn't  get 
them  it  was  safest  to  go  without.  But  this 
little  bit  of  a  duckling  was  more  like  a  Chris- 
tian than  anything  she'd  ever  set  eyes  on,  fol- 
lered  you  about  and  talked  to  you.  She 
wouldn't  wonder  if  you  found  it  writing  in 
copybooks  next,  but  for  herself  she'd  never 
held  with  all  this  eddication,  no,  and  never 
would.  All  she  hoped  was  there  wouldn't  be 
a  judgment  for  taking  a  dumb  thing  out  o' 
nature  like  that."  The  Vicar,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  jocose  in  a  manner  befitting  a  classi- 
cal scholar.  We  met  him  in  the  lane  when  we 
were  giving  our  little  companion  a  stroll,  and 
asked  him  if  he  thought  it  would  turn  into  a 
drake  and  have  a  curled  feather  in  its  tail. 
The  Vicar  would  have  none  of  it.  "No,  no," 
he  said,  "that's  impossible.  Dux  femina 
facti,  you  know,  ha,  ha!"  We  thanked  him 
and  retired. 

•%  So  matters  went  on  for  about  a  fortnight, 
33  %  the 


the  duckling  showing  a  slight  increase  in  size, 
but  still  maintaining  its  yellow  fluffiness,  its 
capacity  for  friendship  and  its  strange  intelli- 
gence. Then  there  came  the  sad  and  fatal 
night  which  put  an  end  to  this  little  idyll. 
The  duckling,  as  I  have  said,  slept  in  a  basket, 
and  at  night  this  was  conveyed  with  its  gentle 
occupant  to  the  bedroom  of  the  two  bigger 
boys.  Turn  and  turn  about  each  of  them  had 
the  right  to  have  the  basket  on  the  floor  by  his 
bedside.  On  this  particular  night  it  was  the 
turn  of  the  eldest  boy.  Before  he  turned  in 
it  seemed  to  him  that  his  little  friend  was 
not  so  comfortable  as  usual  in  the  basket. 
He  thought  it  might  be  cold,  and  told  his 
brother  he  would  take  it  into  his  own  bed  for 
warmth. 

%  "All  right,"  said  the  younger.  "Bags  I 
for  to-morrow  night  then."  So  it  was  ar- 
ranged, and  the  duckling,  nothing  loth,  was 
transferred  to  the  bed,  crept  close  up  to  the 
boy's  body  and  went  to  sleep  very  happily. 
$1  In  the  morning  the  younger  boy  woke  first. 

34 


"Halloa,"  he  shouted  across  the  room,  "let's 
have  the  duckling  out  and  play  with  it." 
%  "Right,"  said  the  elder,  and  he  put  his 
hand  under  the  bedclothes. 
%  There  was  a  pause.     "What's  the  matter?" 
called  the  younger.     "Can't  you  find  it?" 
%  "Oh,  Fred,"  said  the  elder,  "it's  dead,  poor 
little  beggar.     I  must  have  been  lying  on  it 
in  my  sleep.     What  shall  we  do  about  it?" 
®k  There  was  nothing  to  be  done.     The  duck- 
ling had  died  of  mere  excess  of  kindness  and 
affection. 

IV.  THE  PURRERS 

%  WHY  should  the  cat  so  often  be  praised 
with  an  apology,  and  why,  when  the  dog  is 
in  question,  should  he  be  exalted  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  cat?  I  protest  I  do  not  under- 
stand this  habit  of  mind.  There  is,  for  in- 
stance, M.  Maeterlinck.  In  the  midst  of  his 
delightful  and  touching  story  of  his  little  dog 
Pelleas — "tant  d'ardeur  a  aimer,  de  courage 
a  comprendre,  tant  de  joie  affectueuse,  tant 
35 


de  bons  regards  devoues  qui  se  tournaient  vers 
1'homme  pour  demander  son  aide  contre 
d'injustes  et  d'inexplicables  souffrances" — in 
the  midst  of  this  story  he  turns  aside  to  give 
the  cat  a  cuff:  "Je  ne  parle  pas  du  chat  pour 
qui  nous  ne  sommes  qu'une  proie  trop  grosse 
et  immangeable,  du  chat  feroce  dont  Foblique 
dedain  ne  nous  tolere  que  cornme  des  parasites 
encombrants  dans  notre  propre  logis.  Lui 
du  moins  nous  maudit  dans  son  coeur  mys- 
terieux."  Lui!  M.  Maeterlinck  is  wrong 
en  detail  as  well  as  en  gros.  In  spite  of  the 
French  language,  the  cat  ought  not  to  be 
spoken  of  generically  as  a  male.  There  are, 
no  doubt,  particular  Toms,  but  the  general 
cat  is  of  the  feminine  gender,  and  it  is  by  the 
feminine  pronoun  that  I  shall  refer  to  her. 
And  on  the  main  point  the  judgment  is  mon- 
strously wild  and  violent.  As  a  first  step  in 
the  process  of  disproof  I  submitted  this  pain- 
ful passage  to  Fluffy,  who  has  shared  my  home 
for  seventeen  years,  still  keeping  a  gallant 
bearing  against  the  attacks  of  time  and  pro- 

36 


ducing  kittens  with  regularity  and  dispatch. 
"Fluffy,"  I  said,  "are  you  ferocious?"  She 
opened  her  pink  mouth,  but  made  no  sound, 
and  then  (being  on  a  gravel  path)  turned  over 
on  her  back  and  asked  for  a  caress.  "Fluffy," 
I  continued,  "where  is  your  oblique  disdain?" 
She  drew  my  hand  down  gently  and  clawlessly 
with  her  front  paws.  "Fluffy,"  I  concluded, 
"why  do  you  think  of  us  as  encumbering  para- 
sites and  curse  us  in  your  mysterious  heart?" 
She  rose,  arched  her  back,  and  rubbed  her- 
self, smiling  and  purring,  against  my  leg. 
The  answer  was  complete,  a  delicate  and  reti- 
cent expression  of  sincere  affection. 
%  This  is  not  to  deny  the  assertion  that  a  cat 
is  sometimes  fierce  and  cruel.  The  bird 
maintains  it  and  the  mouse  confirms  it.  But 
it  must  be  remembered  that  the  charge  usually 
brought  against  her  is  one  of  special  ferocity 
distinguishing  her,  let  us  say,  from  the  dog. 
What  is  to  be  said,  then,  in  mitigation  of  the 
conduct  of  a  terrier  with  a  rat,  of  a  greyhound 
with  a  hare,  or  of  a  foxhound  (or,  for  the 
37  H  matter 


matter  of  that,  of  a  man)  with  a  fox?  Here 
is  fierceness  on  a  large  scale.  Dinah,  the 
gentlest  and  mildest  Welsh  terrier  that  ever 
begged  pardon  for  existing,  used  to  spend 
hours  at  a  rat-hole.  She  killed,  not  for  food, 
but  for  mere  pleasure.  Rufus,  my  spaniel, 
the  exemplar  of  kindness,  had  a  particular  dis- 
like (it  would  have  been  wrong  to  call  it  a  dis- 
taste) for  hedgehogs.  On  a  summer's  night 
he  used  to  track  them  on  the  lawn,  and  I  have 
known  him  to  bring  three  of  these  inoffensive 
beasts,  each  as  big  as  his  head,  one  after 
another  into  the  drawing-room  in  his  bleeding 
mouth.  That  he  wished  to  destroy  them  is 
certain,  but  their  bristles  saved  them  and  they 
were  all  restored  to  the  bushes  and  liberty. 
On  such  matters  there  can  be  no  argument. 
It  is  best  to  admit  that  our  beloved  dog  and 
our  dear  cat  both  have  primal  impulses,  an- 
cient necessities  of  rapine,  and  wild  desires 
which  we  can  sometimes  soften  and  direct,  but 
can  never  utterly  abolish.  It  must  be  enough 
for  us  that  they  have  come  from  their  world 

38 


into  ours  to  lay  their  love  and  their  com- 
panionship at  our  feet. 

"%  With  what  a  dignity  and  grace  and  dis- 
cretion does  a  cat  make  her  offer.  She  tells 
you  plainly  it  is  there  for  the  taking,  but  she 
would  scorn  to  force  it  upon  you,  for  she  has 
her  reserve  and  is  proud  of  her  independence. 
"If  you  like  me,"  she  seems  to  say,  "and  are 
willing  to  respect  me,  count  me  your  faithful 
cat.  I  shall  make  few  claims  on  you.  An 
armchair,  a  cushion,  a  saucer  of  milk,  a  plate 
of  fish  will  satisfy  my  wants.  I  shall  never 
plague  you  to  take  me  out  for  exercise,  having 
my  own  irregular  hours  for  taking  the  air  by 
myself.  Sometimes  I  will  follow  you  round 
the  garden,  but  never  slavishly,  for  little  mov- 
ing things  attract  me  and  odds  and  ends  of 
toilet  have  to  be  performed.  But  I  am  at  my 
best  inside  your  room."  And  in  this  the  cat 
is  right.  Outside,  no  doubt,  she  may  have  an 
opportunity  to  display  her  courage.  Some 
blundering  bully  of  a  dog  may  see  her  and, 
imagining  a  facile  prey  or  building  hope  upon 
39  %  the 


the  supposed  imminence  of  her  swift  retreat, 
he  makes  at  her  in  a  sudden  onset.  Then  she, 
surprised,  but  not  discomfited,  awaits  his 
coming,  her  lips  drawn  back,  her  eyes  gleam- 
ing defiance,  her  ears  flattened  down,  and  her 
body  tense.  He,  as  he  rushes,  beholds  her 
standing  fast  and  at  the  last  he  leaps  aside  to 
right  or  left,  either  pretending  that  there  is 
no  cat  or  trying  to  persuade  others  that  some 
pressing  business,  newly  discovered,  has  drawn 
him  off  his  direct  course.  And  in  another 
moment  the  cat  is  up  a  tree,  hurling  satire 
down  at  her  baffled  enemy.  And  the  strange 
thing  is  that,  within  the  house,  these  two  may 
be  on  terms  of  easy  friendship,  lying  on  the 
same  rug  and  even  lapping  from  the  same 
dish. 

%  To  be  sure  it  was  on  a  garden  seat  that 
Swinburne  was  sitting  when  he  addressed  his 
beautiful  lines  to  a  cat: 

Stately,  kindly,  lordly  friend, 

Condescend 

Here  to  sit  by  me,  and  turn 
40 


Glorious  eyes  that  smile  and  burn, 
Golden  eyes,  love's  lustrous  meed, 
On  the  golden  page  I  read. 

All  your  wondrous  wealth  of  hair, 

Dark  and  fair, 

Silken-shaggy,  soft  and  bright 
As  the  clouds  and  beams  of  night, 
Pays  my  reverent  hand's  caress 
Back  with  friendlier  gentleness. 

Dogs  may  fawn  on  all  and  some 

As  they  come; 
You,  a  friend  of  loftier  mind, 
Answer  friends  alone  in  kind. 
Just  your  foot  upon  my  hand 

Softly  bids  it  understand. 

• 

Sfe  This  is  the  very  perfection  of  sympathy,  a 
quality  not  too  common  amongst  our  poets 
when  they  refer  to  cats.  Gray,  for  instance, 
when  the  pensive  Selima  was  drowned  in  a 
tub  of  gold-fishes,  described  the  tragedy  with 
an  elaborate  facetiousness,  and  found  in  it  an 
opportunity  for  cold  moralizing.  Ever  since 
41  %  the 


the  far-off  day  when  I  was  ordered  to  trans- 
late them  into  Latin  elegiacs  I  have  detested 
these  heartless  stanzas.  Why,  moreover, 
should  Selima's  death  be  used  to  enforce  the 
lesson  (see  the  last  line)  that  not  all  that 
glisters  is  gold?  Selima  was  not  out  for  gold. 
She  wanted  fish,  and  the  dullest  dace  would 
have  lured  her  to  her  fatal  fall  equally  well. 
Gray  should  have  known  better,  for  he  had 
resided  many  years  at  Cambridge,  where,  as 
at  Oxford,  cats  are  held  in  high  honour  and 
are  promoted  to  great  positions.  Sir  Freder- 
ick Pollock,  who  has  been  Fellow  of  a  College 
at  both  Universities,  has  described  how  his 
election  to  a  Fellowship  was  confirmed  by  the 
"Senior  Fellow,"  who 

Arose  and  sniffed  the  stranger's  shoes 
With  critic  nose,  as  ancients  use 
To  judge  mankind  aright. 

I — for  'twas  I  who  tell  the  tale — 
Conscious  of  fortune's  trembling  scale, 

Awaited  the  decree; 
42 


But  Tom  had  judged:  "He  loves  our  race'9 
And,  as  to  his  ancestral  place, 

He  leapt  upon  my  knee. 
Alas!  the  Senior  Fellow  is  dead,  but  his  mem- 
ory is  kept  alive: 

He  seems,  while  catless  we  confer, 
To  join  with  faint  Elysian  purr, 

A  tutelary  friend. 

Evidently  Sir  Frederick  is  a  "catanthropist" 
— the  word  was  invented  by  AVilkie  Collins. 
I  find  it  used  by  him  in  a  letter  written  to  my 
mother  in  1866: 

%  "Oh,  I  wanted  you  so  at  Rome — in  the 
Protestant  Cemetery — don't  start!  No  ghosts 
— only  a  cat.  I  went  to  show  my  friend  Pig- 
ott  the  grave  of  the  illustrious  Shelley.  Ap- 
proaching the  resting-place  of  the  divine  poet 
in  a  bright  sunlight,  the  finest  black  Tom  you 
ever  saw  discovered  at  an  incredible  distance 
that  a  catanthropist  had  entered  the  cemetery 
— rushed  up  at  a  gallop  with  his  tail  at  right- 
angles  to  his  spine — turned  over  on  his  back 
with  his  four  paws  in  the  air,  and  said  in  the 
43  %  language 


language  of  cats:  'Shelley  be  hanged! 
Come  and  tickle  me!'  I  stooped  and  tickled 
him.  We  were  both  profoundly  affected." 
*%  I  have  wandered  far  from  the  statement 
that  a  cat  is  at  her  best  in  a  room,  and  yet  I 
cling  to  it.  For  in  a  room  a  cat  confers  and 
diffuses  comfort  in  the  very  act  of  accepting 
it.  Place  her  on  a  cushion  with  her  front 
paws  either  folded  and  tucked  beneath  her  or 
kneading  her  soft  couch  with  a  luxurious 
movement,  and  she  will  make,  not  merely  a 
corner,  but  a  whole  library  cosy.  Her  pres- 
ence can  ennoble  a  hovel  and  invest  a  semi- 
detached cottage  with  an  appearance  of  feudal 
and  heraldic  repose.  If  you  call  her  she 
blinks  and  purrs ;  if  you  leave  her  to  herself 
she  is  willing  to  pass  hours  in  serene  abstrac- 
tion from  the  business  of  the  world,  conscious 
only  of  her  own  comfortable  decorative  qual- 
ity and  of  her  self-respecting  dignity.  Some- 
times she  will  play,  but  only  if  she  wishes  to 
amuse  herself,  differing  in  this  from  a  dog, 
who  will  often  play  in  order  that  he  may 
44 


amuse  you.  Her  spirits  are  calm  rather  than 
high,  and  boisterous  fun  has  no  attraction  for 
her.  It  seems  to  her  that  she  ought  to  guard 
your  household  gods  (being  herself  one  of 
them)  in  silence  rather  than  with  a  tempestu- 
ous vigilance.  Yet  her  sympathy  and  her 
friendship  never  fail  those  in  whom  she  has 
learnt  to  place  her  confidence,  and  her  re- 
sponse to  affection  is  quick  and  warm  and 
sincere.  She  is  something  of  a  conservative 
and  suspects  change.  Introduce  a  new  piece 
of  furniture  into  her  room,  and  she  must  in- 
vestigate it  from  top  to  bottom  and  on  all  sides 
before  she  can  even  pretend  to  be  reconciled 
to  it.  Open  a  cupboard  or  pull  out  a  drawer, 
and  her  serenity  disappears.  She  has  to  ex- 
plore the  innermost  recesses  of  this  new  ap- 
pearance delicately  but  thoroughly.  So  it 
was  with  Cowper's  cat: 

A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half-open  in  the  topmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there. 
45  §s  The 


The  unconscious  chambermaid  shut  her  in, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  second  night  that  the 
kind  poet  heard  and  released  his  inquisitive 
companion. 

%  Yet,  though  I  hold  that  cats  are  best  in  a 
house,  I  am  far  from  agreeing  with  those  who 
declare  that  the  attachment  of  cats  is  always 
to  houses  and  never  to  human  beings.  I  could 
cite  many  cases,  but  I  will  content  myself  with 
that  of  Venus. 

^s  Venus  was  a  tortoiseshell  waif  who  ap- 
peared one  morning,  Heaven  knows  whence, 
in  our  garden.  She  announced  her  presence 
to  me  by  pitiful  mewings,  and  then,  in  answer 
to  a  call,  she  revealed  herself,  a  thin,  woe- 
begone figure  with  a  patchy  coat  and  a  long, 
stiff,  attenuated  tail.  As  soon  as  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  about  me  her  friendship;  and 
devotion  began  to  gush  forth.  She  rubbed 
herself  round  and  round  my  legs ;  she  showed 
herself,  as  a  little  boy  once  said  of  another 
cat,  extraordinarily  fond  of  the  human  hand. 
She  followed  me  about  the  garden,  purring 


madly  whenever  I  touched  her;  she  came  with 
me  toward  the  house  and  accepted  a  bowl  of 
milk  with  rapture.  Thenceforward  she  was 
my  intimate  and  affectionate  friend.  Yet  it 
was  only  by  slow  degrees  that  I  was  able  to 
coax  her  into  the  house,  and  her  attitude  in  it 
never  was  one  of  complete  ease.  She  was  a 
wild  free  thing  and  could  not  brook  the  con- 
finement of  four  walls.  Where  she  slept  I 
never  discovered,  but  after  breakfast  I  always 
found  her  waiting  for  me  (and  milk)  near 
the  library  window.  When  she  was  about  to 
become  a  mother  a  comfortable  box  was  pre- 
pared for  her  in  a  shed,  and  it  was  hoped  that 
she  would  use  it  for  the  interesting  event. 
However,  she  preferred  a  thick  patch  of 
bushes  in  the  garden,  and  there  one  morning 
we  discovered  her,  supremely  happy,  with 
four  plain  kittens.  Twice  they  were  trans- 
ferred to  the  box  in  the  shed,  and  twice  Venus 
bore  them  back  to  the  bushes  one  by  one. 
While  she  was  carrying  a  kitten  on  one  of 
these  maternal  excursions  I  met  her.  She 
47  §s  hesitated 


hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  deposited  the 
kitten  at  my  feet  and  mewed.  The  invitation 
was  too  obvious  to  be  neglected.  I  took  up 
her  little  burden,  and  carried  it  for  her  to  her 
leafy  retreat.  After  that  she  was  allowed  to 
have  her  way,  and  we  rigged  up  an  old  um- 
brella to  protect  her  and  her  young  barbarians 
from  rain.  Never  in  the  whole  course  of  our 
friendship  did  she  suffer  herself  to  become  a 
strictly  domestic  cat.  She  loved  and  trusted 
human  beings,  but  she  did  not  like  their 
homes. 

%  Here  I  must  end  my  plea  for  the  cat.  She 
is  often  misunderstood,  and  often  scurvily 
treated  by  those  who  are  dull  enough  to  reject 
her  affection.  Those  who  accept  her  offer 
know  that  she  is 

Vanquished  not,  but  reconciled, 
Free  from  curb  of  aught  above 
Save  the  lovely  curb  of  love. 

And,  thus  curbed,  she  too  is  not  without  a 
spark  divine. 


V.  THE  DREAM  OF  SYLVESTER 

%  WHEN  the  learned  and  saintly  Sylvester 
— not  the  famous  monk  of  KiefT,  whose  name 
is  recorded  in  history,  but  a  distant  and  much 
younger  cousin  of  the  same  name,  who  had 
dedicated  many  years  of  a  long  life  to  the 
service  of  the  poor  and  the  distressed  amongst 
whom  it  was  his  pleasure  to  live — when,  as  I 
say,  Sylvester,  broken  with  toil  and  wrorn  out 
with  sickness,  lay  a-dying,  he  had  a  dream 
which  is  thus  related  in  the  ancient  chronicles : 
^fe  It  seemed  to  Sylvester  that  he  was  drawing 
near  to  the  end  of  a  journey.  As  he  turned 
his  head  he  could  see  the  dark  and  gloomy 
mountain  region  through  which  he  had  passed. 
The  crags,  he  remembered,  had  been  hard  to 
climb ;  the  paths,  winding  along  the  edges  of 
terrific  precipices,  were  slippery  and  narrow, 
and,  footsore  and  weary  though  he  was,  he 
thanked  God  humbly  for  keeping  him  safe 
and  sound  in  the  midst  of  these  manifold  dan- 
gers. The  road  on  which  he  was  now  walk- 
49  %  ing 


ing  was  broad  and  easy,  and  but  a  little  distance 
ahead  he  saw  the  airy  towers  and  gleaming 
palaces  and  the  tall  and  shady  trees  of  the 
great  city  which  he  knew  somehow,  though 
he  could  not  tell  its  name,  to  be  his  destination. 
"Heaven  be  praised  for  all  its  mercies,"  said 
Sylvester.  "I  have  but  a  short  way  to  make, 
and  then  I  shall  be  at  rest." 
%  So  saying  the  good  Sylvester  trudged 
cheerily  forward,  making  light  of  his  past 
sufferings  in  the  hope  of  what  was  to  come. 
On  a  sudden,  as  he  walked,  he  heard  behind 
him  a  clattering  of  heavy  hoofs,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  great  grey  horse,  rough  in  coat  and 
mane  and  tufted  about  his  feet  with  long  hair, 
stood  beside  him  and  whinnied  for  joy.  So 
friendly,  indeed,  seemed  the  horse  that  Sylves- 
ter could  not  forbear  to  pat  his  honest  neck, 
and  as  he  did  so  a  light  broke  into  his  mind, 
for  he  obesrved  that  there  was  a  nick  in  one 
of  the  horse's  ears,  as  though  some  one  had 
clipped  a  little  triangle  out  of  it.  "Surely," 
he  said  aloud,  "this  is  my  old  horse  Justin, 
50 


whom  I  have  mourned  and  missed  these  ten 
years  past." 

%  At  this  the  grey  whinnied  even  more 
loudly,  and  Sylvester  stroked  and  patted  him 
and  kissed  him  on  the  nose,  and  in  return  the 
horse  nuzzled  about  him  with  every  sign  of 
affection. 

%  "Alas,"  said  Sylvester,  "there  was  always 
a  slice  of  apple  or  a  lump  of  sugar  for  thee, 
but  now,  I  fear,  there  is  nothing — nay,  by  my 
father's  sword,  there  is  something,"  and  so  say- 
ing he  brought  out  from  the  capacious  pocket 
of  his  cloak  an  ancient  carrot  and  thrust  it  into 
the  mouth  of  Justin,  who  munched  it  with 
great  relish  and  content. 
%  "But  tell  me,"  said  Sylvester,  when  the  car- 
rot had  been  swallowed,  "how  art  thou  here 
alive,  for  I  remember  how  death  came  upon 
thee  and  that  I  myself  saw  thee  lying  still  and 
-cold  in  the  little  meadow?" 
^s  At  this  the  horse  grew  grave.  "Yes,"  he 
said  (for  in  dreams  as  in  fables  it  is  granted 
to  beasts  to  talk),  "it  is  true  that  I  stretched 
51  ^2  myself 


myself  for  a  long  sleep  and  that  I  was  trans- 
ferred. It  was  grief  and  pain  to  leave  thee, 
but  so  it  was  ordained.  All  these  years  I  have 
waited  for  thy  coming,  and  now  I  behold  thee 
again,  my  master,  and  it  may  be,  if  God  so 
wills  it,  that  we  shall  not  be  parted  any 


more." 


%  "I  pray  it  may  be  so,"  said  Sylvester,  and 
together  they  prepared  to  go  on  their  road. 
But  before  they  had  moved  a  step  there  came 
a  hurried  scampering  of  feet,  and  a  large 
brown  dog  rushed  up  to  Sylvester,  hurled  him- 
self almost  into  his  arms,  and  began  gambol- 
ling round  him,  now  racing  swiftly  in  a  circle, 
now  leaping  against  his  chest  and  again  bound- 
ing against  his  legs,  until  at  last  he  stood 
quivering  by  Sylvester's  side  and  barked,  nay 
shouted,  with  pure  delight. 
%  "Wonder  on  wonder,"  said  Sylvester,  "and 
blessing  upon  blessing;  for  this  is  Ambrose, 
my  faithful  dog,  whom,  since  death  claimed 
him  five  years  back,  I  never  thought  to  see 
again.  Stand  still,  Ambrose,  and  let  me  gaze 
52 


into  thine  eyes,  and  give  me  the  old  look  that 
my  heart  remembers." 

%  And  now  the  dog  in  his  turn  spoke  to  his 
master.  "Wearily  have  the  hours  gone,  O  my 
master,"  he  said,  "since  I  came  hither.  Yet  I 
have  waited  patiently,  knowing  that  thou  too 
wouldst  come.  And  now  it  is  granted  to  me  to 
see  thee  and  I  have  my  recompense." 
%  "And  I  mine,"  said  Sylvester.  "But  time 
is  passing  and  we  must  press  on,  for  I  would 
fain  reach  the  city  before  nightfall." 
"%  "There  is  no  nightfall  here,"  said  a  new 
voice  close  beside  him.  "It  is  always  day." 
%  To  Sylvester  it  appeared  that  there  was 
some  discontent  in  the  tones,  and  he  looked 
carefully  for  the  speaker.  At  last  he  saw  a 
black  furry  face  peeping  out  of  a  bush  by  the 
roadside,  and  realized  that  it  was  a  cat  who 
had  addressed  him. 

%  "Cause  the  horse  and  the  dog  to  stand  back 
for  a  moment,"  said  the  cat,  "for  I  desire  to 
assure  myself  that  thou  art  in  truth  my  old 
companion." 
53  9s  Justin 


%  Justin  and  Ambrose  did  as  they  were  de- 
sired, and  the  cat  advanced  cautiously  from 
her  hiding-place  till  she  reached  Sylvester, 
against  whose  legs  she  rubbed  herself,  purring 
ecstatically  the  while. 

%  "This,"  said  Sylvester,  "is  none  other  than 
Barbara,  the  dear  friend  of  my  middle  age, 
the  comfortable  inmate  of  my  home.  Bar- 
bara, what  brings  thee  here,  for  to  thee,  too, 
death  came  many  years  ago?  I  had  known 
thee  anywhere  by  thy  purr  and  thy  four  white 
paws  and  the  love  thou  showest  me." 
^fe  "What  brings  me  here?"  said  Barbara. 
"Merely  my  own  desire  and  the  convenience 
of  the  bushes  by  which  the  road  is  bordered. 
It  was  open  to  me  to  stay  away,  but  after  all 

I    honour    friendship    and "     Here    she 

broke  off,  for  a  leaf  impelled  by  the  breeze 

had  drifted  past  her  and  she  had  darted  after 

it. 

%  Now,  as  Sylvester  stood  there  wondering 

and  thanking  Heaven  for  its  goodness,  he 

heard  a  fluttering  of  little  wings,  and  a  small 

54 


bird,  dropping  as  it  were  from  the  sky,  circled 
round  his  head  and  perched  upon  his  shoulder. 
It  pecked  gently  at  his  cheek  and  lips,  ruffled 
its  breast-feathers,  and  piped  a  song  of  happi- 
ness. 

%  "How  now?"  said  Sylvester.  "Is  my  little 
bull-finch  Anselm  returned  to  me?  Surely 
thy  tender  body  was  long  since  laid  beneath 
the  roses,  but  now,  behold,  it  is  given  to  me  to 
stroke  thy  glossy  black  head  once  more  and  to 
take  pleasure  in  thy  pretty  ways.  And  now, 
indeed,  I  remember  the  tuneful  notes  which 
used  to  shed  a  balm  upon  my  spirit.  An- 
selm, canst  thou  still  sing  the  Song  of  the  Ex- 
ile?" 

«fc  "That  I  can,"  said  Anselm.  "How  should 
I  forget  aught  that  gave  thee  pleasure?"  and 
raising  his  head  he  let  the  notes  stream  from 
his  parted  beak. 

*fc  "It  is  the  same,"  said  Sylvester,  "the  very 
same,"  and  so,  with  Anselm  on  his  shoulder, 
and  Barbara  zigzagging  from  side  to  side 
(but  never  losing  him  from  view) ,  and  Justin 
55  %  and 


and  Ambrose  following  faithfully  at  his  heels, 
our  kind  Sylvester  went  forward  again  along 
the  road,  until  at  last  they  all  came  to  a  stop 
before  the  great  gate  of  gold  which  is  set  in 
the  outer  wall  of  the  city. 
t  "Knock  at  the  gate,  master,"  said  the  dog. 
<8fc  "Nay,"  said  Sylvester,  "who  am  I  that  I 
should  knock?  I  am  unworthy." 
"fifc  Then  Ambrose  began  to  bark,  and  Justin 
neighed,  and  Anselm  piped  the  Song  of  the 
Exile,  and  Barbara,  too,  made  a  noise  after 
her  own  kind,  all  of  them  desiring  that  their 
friend  Sylvester  might  be  allowed  to  enter; 
but  still  the  great  gate  remained  closed. 
^fe  And  at  last  a  Voice  came  from  within,  say- 
ing, "Who  stands  without?"  and  Sylvester 
made  answer:  "It  is  I,  Sylvester,  the  hum- 
blest of  God's  creatures.  I  have  no  merit  of 
my  own,  but  I  have  toiled  much,  and  now 
would  rest  for  a  little  in  order  that  I  may  the 
better  toil  again." 

%  At  this  there  was  a  pause,  and  then  the 
Voice  spoke  again: 

56 


%  "What  have  these  who  stand  with  thee  to 
say  on  thy  behalf?" 

%  "He  took  me  in,"  said  the  horse,  "when  I 
was  faint  and  wounded.  He  cared  for  me 
and  fed  me  and  healed  me,  and  I  was  happy 
to  serve  him.  Never  a  whip  did  he  use  to 
me,  but  only  kind  and  cheerful  words." 
<%  Next  the  dog  spoke:  "He  rescued  me 
from  death.  He  gave  me  meat  and  drink  and 
kindness  and  friendship.  Life  would  have 
been  useless  to  me  without  him." 
<%  "Aye,"  said  Sylvester,  "but  I  beat  thee  once, 
and  many  a  time  since  has  my  heart  been  sore 
for  thinking  upon  it." 

%  "Pooh,"  said  Ambrose,  "a  touch  with  a  little 
twig.  That  was  no  proper  beating  for  one 
who  had  stolen  a  bone.  It  was  for  me  to  earn 
thy  pardon  for  not  having  been  sufficiently 
punished,"  and  the  dog  came  closer  to  Sylves- 
ter and  pressed  his  muzzle  into  his  master's 
hand. 

%  "He  asked  no  service  of  me,"  said  the  cat, 

"but  gave  and  took  companionship  and  kind- 

57 


ness.  He  spread  his  old  cloak  for  me  by  the 
side  of  the  fire;  he  scratched  me  behind  the 
ears;  he  tended  my  kittens  and  made  my  life 
comfortable." 

%  Last  of  all  the  bull-finch  spoke  in  a  high 
clear  voice : 

%  "He  took  pleasure  in  my  singing.  He 
praised  my  feathers,  and  gave  me  seeds  and 
water.  The  door  of  my  cage  stood  always 
open  and  I  could  flit  where  I  willed.  He 
protected  and  befriended  me,  as  he  did  all 
those  who  suffered  and  had  need." 
<%  Now  Sylvester  was  ashamed  to  hear  him- 
self thus  praised  beyond  what  he  thought  his 
merit,  and  he  was  about  to  protest  and  to  set 
matters  right,  when  the  Voice  from  within 
spoke  again. 

4  "Admit  Sylvester,"  it  said,  "and  let  these 
who  have  spoken  for  him  enter  with  him." 
%  At  this  the  great  gate  flew  back  and  a  loud 
sound  of  bells  broke  forth.     But  just  as  this 
company  of  friends  was  about  to  pass  in  the 

58 


dream  ended  and  Sylvester  for  the  last  time 
awoke. 

*%  He  was  lying  on  his  little  truckle-becl,  and 
sitting  beside  him  he  saw  his  pupils,  Ivan  and 
Nicholas. 

"%  "Is  it  morning  yet?"  he  said. 
%  "Yes,  master,"  said  Ivan.     "Dost  thou  not 
hear  the  morning  bells?" 
*%  "My  strength  is  far  spent,"  said  Sylvester, 
"and  my  time  is  very  short.     I  would  fain  see 
the  faces  of  my  friends  once  more." 
^ts  "Master,"  said  Nicholas,  "we  cannot  let 
them  in,  for  they  are  too  many.    They  have 
been  waiting  outside  this  hour  or  more." 
%  "Tihen  do  thou  and  Ivan,"  said  Sylvester, 
"bear  me  out  in  my  bed,  for  I  must  say  a  word 
to  them  ere  I  depart." 

®k  So  Nicholas  and  Ivan  bore  him  forth,  and 
the  people  when  they  saw  him  fell  on  their 
knees  and  begged  his  blessing.  Then  Sylves- 
ter raised  his  hand  and  blessed  them,  and  hav- 
ing done  this,  he  asked  them  to  listen,  and  he 
59  <fc  told 


told  them  his  dream  as  I  have  here  set  it  down. 
And  when  he  had  done,  one  said  to  another, 
"Surely  our  dear  master  wanders  in  his  mind," 
and  another  said,  "It  is  a  pretty  tale,  but  why 
is  it  told  to  us?"  But  others  understood  and 
were  silent.  And  when  they  looked  at  Sylves- 
ter again  they  saw  that  there  was  a  smile  upon 
his  face,  and  then  the  smile  passed,  and  his 
head  fell  back,  and  he  was  dead. 
*%  And  since  that  day  in  the  region  where 
he  lived  and  taught  there  have  been  few  but 
have  been  good  to  their  beasts,  sharing  with 
them  in  thankfulness  the  common  toil  and  the 
common  blessings  of  the  world.  And  from 
their  beasts  they  have  learnt  how  to  be  good  to 
one  another,  bearing  themselves  humbly  and 
loyally  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  ordained  life 
in  its  various  forms,  allotting  to  one  a  furry 
coat,  to  another  wings,  to  a  third  the  gift  of 
speech,  and  to  all  a  heart  where  love  can  make 
its  home. 


60 


14  DAY  USE 

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